Wakey Wakey
by babybluecas
Summary: It's Dean's Birthday and Cas wakes him up with a sweet surprise.


"Dean."

A low whisper seeps into his dream, but its softness can't pull him out. It only lulls him harder, the warmth and safety of it cradles him like a blanket.

"Dean," the voice repeats, a little louder this time, yet still hardly over a breath. "Wake up."

There's a touch, then, light, at first. Repeated motions of fingers running through Dean's hair. It just feels so good. He's awake now, mostly, though the touch feels so great he might as well be dreaming. The caress moves down his temple now, the tips of fingers graze the stubble along his jaw.

He doesn't dare to move so the hand doesn't go away.

"Come on, Dean." That, again. No longer a whisper now.

"Shhhh, Cas," Dean murmurs, as still as he can. "Shhhh."

The hand stops at the base of his neck and breaks away the touch. Dean hopes a scrape of a five-o'clock will replace it, a hot brush of lips. But there's nothing.

Dean gives out a quiet, dismayed sound. He's about to demand Cas puts it back when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. The firm grasp begins to shake him, not hard enough to alert him, but persistently enough to annoy him.

"Wake up, love," Cas commands.

Dean growls and yanks the shoulder away from his grip.

"Fuck you, Cas," he grumbles and turns away from the man lying next to him.

Before his head can even hit the pillow again, he feels like a fucking jerkface. He prompts himself on his elbow and twist his upper body back to Cas, to see if he's pissed, but he just seems amused.

"What time is it?" Dean asks, shutting one eye to gain a better focus on Cas's mouth, it's upturned corners.

"Almost noon," Cas replies.

"You're shitting me." Dean didn't drink last night and he didn't even go to bed that late for his standards. He can't have slept this long. But Cas shakes his head. "Why'd you let me sleep this long?"

"Because you could," Cas says simply, like that explains it. "And you deserved it."

Dean doesn't say anything because Cas's palm is back on his cheek.

"Especially today," Cas adds, his smile widens.

Dean narrows eyes at him. Today, today, why tod–

"Oh," he huffs before he can stop himself. Now, that's a way to sound dumb when he almost forgot his own Birthday. "Well, damn sure I deserved it!"

Cas chuckles at his failed save.

"So where's my birthday breakfast in bed?" Dean pouts.

"There is lunch in the kitchen," Cas says.

Dean considers it for a second, then clicks his tongue. "Good enough."

He pushes the blanket off, but Cas's hand stops him from jumping off the bed.

"Wait, first this."

Cas sits up and turns away. He reaches to the nightstand for something that was conveniently hidden from Dean's view behind a stack of books. He kneels back on his side of bed, holding the form in his hands.

The first thing Dean recognizes are the two rainbow-colored candles, burning orange on their tops and a little melted from waiting for him to wake up. They're shaped into numbers: a three and an eight. Sure, why not rub it in a guy's face?

But then, forget the candles. What they're stuck into, that's the important part here. It's not some bleak, store-bought cake. It's a friggin'–

"Pie!" Dean exclaims and smashes his together, completely undeserving of that "eight" part of the birthday pastry.

Cas grins widely behind the flames.

"Yes. Happy, uh–" He clears his throat and tries again, but instead of a simple "Happy Birthday, Dean," he goes for the actual song.

Dean can't hold back his chuckles as Cas is doing his damn best not to get too off key. But the timbre of his voice sounds, actually, really nice, has something soothing in it. If Cas ever transforms into an even biggers sap than he is now and starts singing Dean lullabies, Dean might have a very, very hard time protesting.

"Uh, wow, thanks," Dean mumbles when Cas is done.

Cas kneels closer to him, throws one leg over both of Dean's and perches on his heels. Dean lifts a hand to take the pie from him, but Cas shakes his head.

"Make a wish," he reminds him with a serious face.

Dean knits his eyebrows for only a moment. He knows. He knows what he wants to wish for. More of this sort of happiness, warm and toned and safe sort of happiness. More mornings in Cas's caress, with his face right there, when Dean opens his eyes. More of this feeling that everything's right, just a little—no, let's make it much—much more often.

He holds onto that wish as he blows the candles, both off at the first try.

"Happy Birthday, Dean," Cas says, leaning in to place a kiss on Dean's lips.

"Thanks, babe," Dean mutters against his mouth, enjoying the kiss for a while. He breaks it away, snatching the whole form of pie from Cas's palms. "Now give me my pie."

"After lunch," Cas decides, fingers grazing at the form.

"Yes, now—pie, after—lunch," he explains, pulling a teaspoon out yesterday's cup of tea.

Cas grunts, frustrated at the twisting of his words. He grabs the edge of the form that Dean holds in the narrow space between them. He'd easily rip it out of Dean's hands if he really wanted to.

But he just makes a concerned face and mutters, "It's unhealthy to eat sweets first thing in the morning."

"It's noon," Dean reminds him, stabbing the middle of the pie with the teaspoon.

Cas rolls his eyes and sits back to give Dean space and watch his reaction. Dean stuffs a big chunk of crust and fruity mush into his mouth. Well, shit, the pie's as fucking delicious as Dean expected and there's something about it–

"His ihn't froh he stohe," he says, or tries, at least.

Somehow, Cas understands him and shakes his head.

"No, it's– I– uh," he stutters and lets his eyes down to his palms. "I baked it for you," he confesses. "Is it very bad?"

Dean's eyes grow wide. He swallows the last of the bite before he speaks again.

"Are you fucking serious, Cas? This is awesome!"

Cas's face brightens, his eyes glow like a pair of light bulbs.

"I found the recipe online and it wasn't even that hard to make," he explains. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? Man, this is–" he doesn't finish with another bite landing in his mouth.

Cas grins, as he reaches to wipe a bit of apple pulp smeared in the corner of Dean's lips.

"Okay, I think that's enough," Cas says, just to ruin the moment, of course. He reaches to take the pie away from Dean. "You can eat the rest after lu–"

Dean stuffs a ripped off chunk of pie into his piehole, positively shutting Cas up.

Dean's lips begin to quiver, the more he stares at the view before him. The pie didn't slip all the way in, there's the crusty edge sticking out of Cas's mouth, apples dripping down his chin. Even the white spatter of sugar powder flew up to cover his nose just to perfect the composition.

And on top of that, there's Cas's expression: a little staggered and a lot done. Dean's in trouble, probably, but the whole new look of Cas's is too much of a masterpiece to care about anything else right now.

If only Dean could snap a picture of the moment.

He doesn't even try to hold back his bellowing laughter. He throws his head back, clutching the pie to his chest.

"Best birthday ever," he squeaks, brushing away a tear from his eye, as Cas attempts to growl at him through the pie. "Best. Birthday. Ever."


End file.
